


kiss it better

by Siria



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s01e20 Ma Ke Kahakai (Shore), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-13
Updated: 2011-04-13
Packaged: 2017-10-18 00:20:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene for 1.20, set just before the scene at Morimoto's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	kiss it better

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Sheafrotherdon for betaing!

Kamekona hands Steve over in the parking lot out front of headquarters, music pumping loud enough on the jeep stereo to make Danny’s teeth ache with it. Steve clambers out of one vehicle and into the other at something less than his usual breakneck speed, so Danny has enough time to salute Kamekona and thank him for performing Steve-wrangling duties.

"No worries, brother," Kamekona says, making the shaka at him with one big hand. "You two try not to get into too much mischief, eh?" He peels out of the lot at a speed that rivals Steve at his worst.

Danny peers after him, then gets into the car. "Is his truck... leaking?"

"Don't ask," Steve says. He's leaning against the passenger door, eyes closed and his busted arm cradled against his chest. Since Danny saw him last, the full impact of Steve’s fall has bloomed out across his skin in mottled swathes of purple and red. The lines in Steve's forehead aren't as deep as they could be, which tells Danny that the good people at the hospital—and Danny knows they're good people, has had cause to patronise them often enough since he started on the Five-0 and internal bleeding became a daily hazard, thinks he's going to be sending them a card and an expensive box of chocolates sometime soon—managed to slip something pharmaceutical into Steve's bloodstream.

"Hey," Danny says, "hey, you sure you want to come with? I can drop you back at your place, let you sleep the worst of it off if you want—I got this covered."

Steve's eyes fly wide open, like Gracie when she’s the other side of exhaustion but worried about the prospect of missing something exciting. "I'm good to go, Danno. Don't have to worry about me."

Danny sighs. "Then it's just my luck, you goof, that I do."

Steve rolls his eyes, a gesture at odds with the sudden flush of colour high on his cheekbones. "Come on," he says, looking out the window at the trees, the blue sky, the rush of traffic out on the street, "better follow this lead of yours before the evidence ends up inside some nori."

"Sir, yes sir," Danny says, but he can't stop the pained hiss that escapes him when his palms touch the steering wheel.

Steve's head whips around, snake fast. "Danny?"

"I'm fine," Danny says, hurrying to reassure him, because that look on Steve's face always bodes. "You can stop with the whole nostril flaring thing, I'm good."

Steve doesn't listen to him—but then, when does he ever, the man makes a vocation out of ignoring Danny's entirely reasonable requests—and reaches out with his free hand to snag one of Danny's. He turns it over, makes a low noise in the back of his throat when he catches sight of the line that's scraped red and livid across Danny's palm. "The rope?"

Danny shrugs, feeling a little awkward. "Turns out most doctors don't recommend letting a rope run through your hands like that. But hey, some Bactine and I'm good as new." He wiggles the fingers of the hand Steve's not holding. "Look Ma, hands."

"Should've stopped to let you chalk up before I went down," Steve says. "Stupid." Something clicks in his jaw and oh, here we go, here's the Steve McGarrett patented self-flagellation special—Steve broke his arm but Danny has a little friction burn on his palms, stop the presses. If anyone should be kicking themselves, it's Danny for not insisting they bring a satellite phone with them, but Danny's got enough smarts to know not to bring that up in front of Steve right now.

"You, my friend, are a goof," Danny says, shaking his head, and moves his hand a little so he can curl his fingers around Steve's, squeezes them gently. "I'm fine, you're fine, no one's bleeding out, no one has a gunshot wound to anything, so can we just go here? Time and fish wait for no man."

"Okay," Steve says, "sure," but he doesn't let go of Danny's hand—tugs it up to his face so that he can press the lightest of kisses to his palm. Something in Danny's stomach turns over watching him do that, watching the way Steve closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath—Steve's touch is gentle, so it doesn't sting; his breathing is warm against the torn skin. The gesture makes Danny want to say stupid things, make reckless promises, because there's something jerky in Steve's movements, like he doesn't trust himself to be able to provide comfort, even though there are days it feels like Danny can only get up and keep going because he's got Steve on one side of him and Gracie on the other. Steve underestimates himself in ways that astound Danny, even now.

They stay like that for a long moment, and then Steve pulls back, looking a little embarrassed—and hey, it's not like Danny can blame him, this whole new thing they got between them leaves him feeling ridiculous too, nine times out of ten, wearing his heart on his sleeve in a whole new way and hoping for them both to beat the odds—but if there's one thing life's taught Danny, it's how to push through.

"I know," he says, "I get it, babe. Me too." It kills him a little inside, how that handful of words is enough to make Steve look at him like he's _grateful_ , and Danny leans over, presses a kiss to the stubble on Steve's cheek. They may be grown men, may be more used to fucking and fighting than they are to everyday affection like this, but Danny finds he can't make himself worry too much about stuff like that anymore.

"Okay," Steve says softly when Danny pulls away; and on the drive over to Morimoto's, Danny keeps one hand on the wheel and one hand in Steve's own, keeps his eyes on the road ahead of them with Steve's hand burning firm against his lifeline.


End file.
